


let's talk about your hair and how it's grown (and how we know that we're not getting anywhere)

by jardinier



Category: Evillious Chronicles
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 01:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13471029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jardinier/pseuds/jardinier
Summary: There's nothing like a friendship built on common grief.





	let's talk about your hair and how it's grown (and how we know that we're not getting anywhere)

> _I say, I promise I won't do something awful,_  
>  _and he says, you are something awful,_  
>  _but I'm keeping you anyways._
> 
>      Yves Olade, _Bloodsport_

 

 

 

It’s Tuesday morning when Gammon Octo becomes aware of the fact that not all wars are cold. Coldness denotes an aftermath, he thinks. An ending, a defeat, death. This particular war that they were fighting was not a cold war, however much the Dark Star Bureau and Gallerian Marlon made it out to be, and he was not going to let the spark of war suffocate beneath their corruption before it had even had a chance to burst into flames. He had to fight- not for himself, he reminds himself, but for the people.

He only does what he must- amongst that is the paperwork for the party, because every last bit counts, however tedious it may be. Filling out paperwork was an easy task, or at least, it _should have_ been, but as he comes to find out, nothing comes quite as easy to him now that she’s around.

He feels a sense of familiarity upon looking at her, as though he has seen her not once but a hundred times before, but he can’t quite place his finger on it (or her, for that matter, however much he might want to at the moment, but he sighs and pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind.)

They’ve fallen into a routine of sorts, he realizes, as he watches her stare blankly at the paper, books, and pencils spread out in front of her. Gammon almost feels envious of her stack of papers compared to his, but remains quiet as he turns back to his own work.

“Gammon,” she says, after a few minutes ( _says, not whispers, not shouts, and he’s not sure why it sends shivers down his spine._ ) “What time is it?”

“Hm? Oh, it’s- 10 am.”

“ _Barely_?” she grumbles, letting her head slump against the desk. Gammon chuckles.

“What, don’t say you want to go home? It’s not as though you do anything there either, so what’s the point? Better to be productive here, no?”

“The point is,” Nemesis sits up and looks up to meet his eyes. “Anything is better than doing _this_.”

“Schoolwork? Shouldn’t that be easy? I’ll trade you, if you’d like,” he chuckles again, but her eyes widen and for a moment he worries that she might be seriously considering the offer. “Or, well, I could help you- study, I mean.”

Nemesis blinks, before motioning towards his side of the desk. “Don’t you have all of that to worry about?”

“Well, I’m in the same situation as you, I suppose. Even I get bored of doing nothing but that all day. The ends justify the means, though, so if it’s for the good of Levianta and Elphegort- then I’ve no choice but to do it. A break would do me some good, I think, so I might as well help you, since it’s evident there’s no way you’ll ever finish otherwise.”

She considers his offer for a moment, before nodding. “But then, you’ll-”

“I’m here until nine, Nemesis. I have to finish eventually. If not, then I’ll just work extra-hard tomorrow. Now, what is it that you’re reviewing?”

“Oh, I was working on- Reading, but there’s some things I don’t understand very well....”

“Reading, eh? That’s easy enough. Hand me your book, you can listen as I read. What is it that you were reading, exactly?”

Nemesis slides the book towards him, leaning back against the chair. “Oh… The Red Shoe Parade, I believe…”

He raises a brow, flipping through the pages. “Ah, by Yukina Freezis. It contains a lot of important social commentary, I think- It’s one of my favorites. Stop me whenever you need to, but don’t fall asleep, please-”

He stops suddenly, leaning in towards her to brush the hair out of her face. Nemesis stills, furrowing her brow, before watching as he returns to his usual spot with a sigh.

“... Sorry. You really ought to brush your hair better," he stares for a few moments, finally breaking eye contact after a few seconds. "... Anyway, I think it’d do both of us some good to take a break, actually- we can come back to this later.”

“Break? We just got here an hour ago.”

“Yes, well, _I_ need a quick break. I’m still not quite fully awake, it seems, so I’ll go get some coffee. You’re welcome to stay here if you’d like, just don’t destroy my office or anything of the sort.”

“That’s not a very good work ethic, you know,” she teases, as she follows him outside and into the corridor.

 

 

 

The fire blazes on and the revolution has won.

It’s a mess. There’s people crying and people yelling and people laughing and he’s going to have to make headcounts of the soldiers they lost by tomorrow and they have to figure out how to re-establish the general welfare and -

Gammon runs his hands over hers in a sentiment of worry, inspecting for wounds or burns or anything of the sort, and she flinches.

“Nemesis,” he breathes, trying to bring her back to reality, to reassure her that everything is alright, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he’s doing it to reassure himself of that too.

Her eyes widen, and she blinks, once, twice, three times, before letting herself relax in his grip. It’s only Gammon. There’s nothing for her to worry about. “Gammon,” she blinks again, and he takes note of the way her voice cracks ever so slightly when she says that.

“Nemesis,” he repeats, tightening his grip on her hands. “You’re fine- _we’re_ fine. Everything went well. And Gallerian, he’s-?”

“Dead. He’s dead,” Gammon nods, and she jerks her hands away from his. “Don’t… Don’t do that. My hands… They’re dirty.”

Gammon furrows his brow in worry, taking a step back and watching as she desperately continues to wipe her hands on the fabric of her shirt, scrubbing away at what was not there. It was a feeling he knew all too well.

“His hands… They were warm. Perhaps it was just the fire, but… His hands, they were warm. The last corpse I held- his hands were warm too. The last corpse I held… That of the man I loved.”

Gammon narrows his eyes. “Nemesis…” 

“This corpse… Did I love this man too?”

“Nemesis, _do not begin to compare that man to_ -”

She shakes her head. “Have I done the right thing, Gammon? Perhaps he would have suffered more if he had been forced to live. That scum- he _thanked_ me… Oh, here’s the smell of blood still-”

“Nemesis, what’s done cannot be undone. Only time will tell…” the two remain silent for a moment. “Your hands don’t smell of blood, but… your clothes most certainly smell of smoke,” he stops himself before he can ask her to remove them, silently cursing himself for thinking of such things at even times like these. “Your hair too…” Gammon takes two steps towards her, reaching out for her hair and tugging at her braid until it comes undone. His fingers remain caught between the strands of her hair, almost serving as a reminder that despite everything, they’re still here.

“What was that for?”

“So the smell doesn’t stick. Anyway… You’ll most likely be arrested, now that they know who you are… I’ll- I’ll try my best, with the new-found political influence I have, and… well, we’ll just have to see how it works out.”

He smiles at her, however tired he may be, and she feels reassured, if only for a few moments.

 

 

 

The lock clicks and the doorknob turns and Nemesis holds her gun out to the intruder.

Gammon’s eyes widen, and he takes a step back. “Hey- it’s only me. No need to do that. You’re not trying to gain early presidency to the party, are you?”

Nemesis chuckles, lowering her gun and allowing herself to relax. “How did you get in?”

“You gave me the key.”

“Ah.”

He stares for a moment, before speaking. “I heard you were sick.”

“Oh, how could you tell? It’s not as though I look my worst right now or anything of the sort.”

 _You don’t,_ he thinks, but doesn’t say. _Not at all._ He snorts. “Well, you could’ve at least _told_ me or something. It’s truly worrying when you of all people don’t show up to work for two days.”

“Well, I would’ve told you if I _could_ have. But I couldn’t, so, here we are.”

“Have you eaten?”

“... Barely,” she admits. “I can’t keep anything down, for some reason.”

He nods. “I’ll take care of that for you, then, I suppose. I assume you haven’t finished those things I assigned you?”

She merely gives him a deadpan stare, and Gammon nods again. “Of course not. You’ve been sick, right, right. Where’s your kitchen?” Nemesis motions towards the hall, and he nods a third time.

He later watches as she wolfs down the soup set in front of her, and he frowns. “Little wonder you can’t keep anything down when you eat that fast.”

Nemesis rolls her eyes. “Have you any more business here, or…?”

“Hm? Am I not allowed to visit you anymore?”

“No, you’re just annoying, is all.” He scoffs, but observes closely as her face pales after a few minutes.

Gammon squints at her in worry. “Nemesis, are you-”

She rushes to one of the nearby rooms and he follows, holding her hair back and rubbing circles on her back as she kneels to the ground and empties her stomach over the toilet bowl.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” he jokes. She vomits in response.

Gammon leaves for a moment to get her some water, and returns to Nemesis trying to catch her breath, holding her hand over her mouth in precaution. She snatches the glass from his hand, downing the entire thing in one go, giving him an apologetic look.

“Brush your teeth.” 

“Why, do you want to kiss me?” she gives him a shaky grin. It makes his stomach twist all the same, and he hates himself for flushing. He sighs.

“No. Definitely not. Even if I did, which I _don’t_ , I wouldn’t want to catch whatever it is you’re sick with. Go do it, or you’ll have that aftertaste in your mouth the entire day.”

Nemesis reaches out towards his hand, and he helps her up, leading her towards the sink and running his fingers through the tangled mess that’s her hair. He picks up a comb and slides it through the knots, and she hums in appreciation.

 

 

 

“I miss her a lot. My mother.”

“Kayo Sudou…” he says, absentmindedly, and Nemesis nods. “There’s a woman who married into the Octo family under that name. Funny coincidence, isn’t it?” she nods once more, and he realizes that she's not listening.

“But, well… she wasn’t there very often, but… she tried her best. And when she _was_ there, well… she was the kindest mother in the world. On my birthday she’d… she’d…” Nemesis’ voice trails off, and he expects her to continue, but realizes after some minutes that she is done talking.

“Well, my mother- she died when I was very young. So did my father. All I really had was… my brother. He took on many roles in my adolescence. For that I’m thankful. His death… forced me to find my own way. I depended too heavily on him, so… well, there’s that.”

Nemesis hums, unable to respond in any other way. Gammon continues. “I miss him.”

“I miss him too.”

There’s nothing like a friendship built on common grief, Gammon thinks, as her head falls on his lap and he buries his hand in her hair, gently holding onto it like it’s the only thing tying him down to reality. He hates himself for the thoughts that come in and out of his mind, so he busies himself with reading over the papers on his desk, and deludes himself into thinking that he can focus on anything other than her.

 

 

 

Coldness denotes an aftermath, Gammon thinks. An ending, a defeat, death. It’s only fitting that he reaches his breaking point during the winter.

The smell of cheap champagne hangs around the air and their laughter permeates the wave of torrid heat surrounding them. He sets his glass down, face flushed, and looks up at her.

“No more events for the rest of the year, right?”

“I’m _exhausted_ ,” Nemesis replies, pouring herself more from the bottle. “Definitely no more.”

He chuckles. “We’re president and vice-president, we have to attend them, you know.”

“Where in the Tasan party’s constitution does it state that the leaders must show up to every event?”

“It’s what you have to do if you want to be well-liked, Nemesis.”

She sighs. The two remain quiet for a moment, their eyes not daring meet each other’s, before she speaks up again. “Gammon… what of the serious issues in Elphegort? We can’t keep hiding behind well-organized events and hired speakers. There’s things we need to work on, like the increasing rate of public disapproval... “

“Right. Right, you’re right- goodness, I’ve been… neglecting my work for so long. Levia, that makes me feel terrible,” he downs another glass of alcohol and buries his face in his hands, speaking again after a few moments. “Nemesis… I can’t do this anymore.” Gammon says, weakly.

“What?”

“I… can’t be responsible for managing an entire party anymore… I just can’t do it, Nemesis. I can’t focus. I can’t… I’m not the best person to be leading the people anymore- I’m not the person they elected into office. I’ve failed them, Nemesis... “

Nemesis’ brow furrows in worry, and she leans in a little closer to him. “Gammon… you can still pick things up. I’m sure you can, you’ve done it before. You’ve helped _me_ of all people so many times before. There’s still so much you can do for this country…”

“There isn’t. Collecting the disorder in the country- it’s not an overnight thing. I can’t dedicate myself to that. I simply can’t. It’s not that I don’t want to, but… I really can’t. The way things are going, we might as well establish a military government or dictatorship of some sort. We can’t do that. We’d be failing the people, Nemesis. We must prioritize the public safety above all.”

Gammon stills.

“I just… want to run away, Nemesis.”

“Leave it all to me.”

Gammon looks up at her and stares for some seconds, before bursting out into a fit of laughter. “No… No, I can’t do that. Not to you. I can’t let you deal with all my responsibilities. What type of person would that make me?”

“Eh? I’m qualified enough to run this entire thing myself- I’m your vice-president for a reason, Gammon. You clearly need a break of some sort.”

“A break… a break, yes. A vacation. I can go down to that old forest, I can… retrieve that sword…”

Nemesis raises a brow. “That sword?”

Gammon doesn’t reply, and Nemesis decides not to pry. After more silence, he speaks up again.

“You’re… pretty, Nemesis.”

It was her turn now to break into a small fit of laughter. “The alcohol really gets to you, huh?”

“No… You’re really pretty, Nemesis. You’re beautiful.”

Another snicker. “Watch your words, Gammon. Does the Levin bible not prohibit a man from laying with his brother’s wife?”

“Neither of us are religious, Nemesis. Levirate marriage isn’t frowned upon here in Elphegort, either,” he thinks for a moment, as though seriously considering it. “But no need to think of such things- I’m not in love with you or anything. It was merely an observation. It’s for that reason that I must find-... “

Nemesis reaches out towards his face, brushing his bangs out of his face, and surprisingly, he lets her.

“These have gotten long. You haven’t cut them in a while?” Gammon shakes his head. “It’s a wonder you can still see at all. What is it that truly worries you, Gammon?”

“It’s, ah, nothing… Nothing big, no need to worry. I just need some time off, is all.”

“Take that time off, then. You deserve it. You’ve worked hard for all of us… I see no reason why even the president shouldn’t be allowed a break.”

“Right, right…”

“Plus, I trust you to not simply run away and abandon me and the party and all that- you’re capable of dealing with you issues, right? You’re not a coward, or selfish enough to disappear forever,” she smiled at him, pressing her hand against his temple. He stills for a moment, before bringing her fingers down to meet his lips and pressing a small kiss against her fingertips.

“I wouldn’t… leave you to deal with all of this alone. I promise not to. What type of- of comrade would that make me?”

“Right.”

They look at each other for a moment, before entwining their arms together and sharing a toast.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from a have mercy song.


End file.
